


A Whole New (Technicolour) World

by gaymingtrash



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymingtrash/pseuds/gaymingtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where when you meet your soulmate your world turns from black and white to colour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whole New (Technicolour) World

Dorian was up to his neck in demons when the colours arrived. There was a fade rift in the middle of the room, and they were pouring out of it.

It was, all things considered, terrible timing. As much as people had attempted to describe it, there’s no describing colours to a blind man, and he was overwhelmed as the world around him changed in a burst of light.

The demons around him had never looked more grotesque now there was this added dimension to them, but similarly the chantry had never looked more beautiful.

Dorian was so taken aback at the changes in the world around him that it took him a short while before he realised the significance of the event. He was near his soulmate. For half a moment, he was worried that the old scary stories about the magisters from the rest of Thedas were true and he was doomed to cavort with a demon, but then he heard the chantry door slam shut behind him.

He was meeting with the Inquisitor, of course. A couple of demons had taken advantage of the distraction to get closer to Dorian, who beat them down with his staff, for lack of a better weapon.

“Good, you’re finally here. Now help me close this, would you?”

His words were glib, disguising the anxiety rising in his chest. The Inquisitor hadn’t come alone, which complicated things, though he was the only human. A dwarf, a qunari and an elf stood beside him. It felt like the setup to a very bad joke.

They all took to their weapons, and Dorian didn’t have the time to scrutinise them any further for the time being.

The dwarf, elf and qunari took down the demons around them while the Inquisitor merely cleared a path for himself towards the rift in the middle of the room. There was a loud cracking noise, and a jet of green light ran from the man’s outstretched hand to the centre of the rift. A hum grew, and with a second loud crack, the rift was gone, and with it, the demons.

“Fascinating. Now how does that work, exactly?” Dorian said. He laughed, “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes.”

Dorian had a moment to survey the mismatched group in front of him. They were all striking, in their own ways. The elf, tall, slender, and entirely bald; the dwarf, grinning confidently; and the qunari, with an eyepatch that surely had an interesting story behind it. The qunari and those of Tevinter weren’t exactly what anybody would call ‘on friendly terms’, however. If he was the soulmate out of the four, he was even more of a scandal to the house of Pavus than he had initially thought.

He looked over the Inquisitor last of all. Tall, broad, with high cheekbones and long brown hair. His eyes were different colours in the centre and at the outline of his iris. It was something Dorian never would have been able to notice before. It made his gaze look very intense.

“Who are you?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” he said.

“How do you do?” the Inquisitor returned, with a tilt of his head. “Kaleb Trevelyan, and this is Varric, Solas, and the Iron Bull,” he said, gesturing to each in turn.

Dorian nodded. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable - as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Dorian explained the situation to the Inquisitor and his companions as succinctly as he could. Alexius was distorting time, though for what reason he didn’t know why.

This much was enlightened by the arrival of the magister’s son, Felix.

“My father’s joined a cult,” he said. “Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’.” Their motivation, apparently, was to get to the Inquisitor. They were obsessed with him - perhaps, Felix supposed, because he survived the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

“All this for me? And here I didn’t get Alexius anything,” Kaleb said, a wry smile lifting one side of his mouth. The dwarf Varric chuckled.

“Send him a fruit basket, everyone loves those,” Dorian said in return, concealing his amusement. If his soulmate happened to be one of the men standing in front of him, he hoped it was the funny one.

* * *

After the defeat of Alexius at Redcliffe, Dorian found himself moving in to Skyhold. He didn’t have much to move in with - he left his home with only what he could carry. It was a comfort to be around a well-stocked library again.

He spent the first few days trying to get to know the people who could have been his soulmate. Varric saw right through him, and told him in no uncertain terms that the only person he had any room for in his life was his crossbow, Bianca. Dorian couldn’t help but find himself a little relieved - he liked the dwarf, he was witty and good natured, but he couldn’t say that he felt any kind of attraction to him.

Solas didn’t seem to be attracted to people as a concept, either. He spoke of spirits, and wisps, and was usually asleep whenever Dorian went looking for him, exploring the fade. Though he did begin to wonder if it was an avoidance tactic by the third time in a row that it happened.

The Iron Bull… was a man and a half. In stature, certainly, but also in personality. For such an intimidating type, his affection for his group - the Chargers - was obvious. Krem was the only ‘Vint’ he had room for in his life, though. That much was clear.

That left only the Inquisitor - or Kaleb, as he preferred to be called. A little reading revealed that the Trevelyans were well regarded nobles, yet Kaleb retained a gentle humility to an almost self-deprecating degree. There weren’t many men in Tevinter like Kaleb, that was for sure.

Dorian had heard rumour, however, that not all soulmates were matched. Certainly, if Kaleb had experienced the same world shift that he had in the chantry at Redcliffe, he gave nothing away. But then, why would he? Fate had already assigned him as the Herald of Andraste, and perhaps that’s enough of a hand to be dealt with without being doled out a lover, too.

He remembered Felix’s words. Felix was not a fan of fate, perhaps because of the injustice of being saddled with the incurable illness that he had. He was fated to die - a long time ago, in fact - but remained cheerful and kicking regardless. Felix was never morose about his illness, but Dorian did that all for him. “Fuck fate,” Felix had said. “Choose choice.”

Dorian had to wonder about that. If fate had no hand - if his world had always been coloured - would he choose Kaleb Trevelyan? Equally as importantly, would Kaleb choose him?

The Tevinter pariah and the Herald of Andraste. Not the sort of love fluffy romances were written about - more the type of relationship found in epic tragedies, where somebody always dies at the end.

Kaleb as a person, however. He was kind, funny, fiercely loyal. He had the kind of leadership skills that could take the most opposing of characters fight for each other on the battlefield and laugh together about it afterwards. Not to mention, he was incredibly handsome.

Dorian decided that he would choose the Inquisitor, if it came down to that. But what choice did he have? Fate dictated one outcome, but circumstance another. Kaleb was too busy inquisiting to have dalliances with men like him.

* * *

Dorian, Josephine, Blackwall and the Iron Bull were all sitting in Skyhold’s tavern, Herald’s Rest. Kaleb joked that having a tavern named after him was actually his greatest legacy, regardless of all his other achievements.

Somehow, with a comment from Blackwall on how beautiful the dragon they fought at Crestwood was, the subject came up of being able to see colour - or not, in the Iron Bull’s case.

“Qunari never see the colours,” he explained. “That whole ‘one person for the rest of your life’ thing just isn’t for us. We’re used to a world in black and white - it makes sense. The rules of the Qun are in black and white, too.”

“Oh, but the balls are so splendid!” Josephine cried. “All the colours of the dresses, the architecture, the tapestries.” She kept an immaculate pokerface when the Iron Bull asked her who her soulmate was, but it was clear to see who she was in a relationship with from the fond way Blackwall kept looking across the table at her, no matter how discreet they had otherwise been.

“What about you Dorian? Anybody lighting up your world?” the Iron Bull asked.

Dorian felt himself redden, and avoided the temptation to look at Kaleb to gauge his reaction. “You know, in Tevinter it’s not considered polite to talk about these things in civilised company. Like politics, or religion.”

“Of course,” Josephine said. “The nobles usually intermarry for a purer bloodline - from what I’ve heard of Tevinter, it would make sense that you’d be discouraged from speaking freely about true love.”

“No, the rest of Thedas’s culture of love is considered strange and unusual. You wouldn’t find Varric’s ‘Swords and Shields’ anywhere in a Tevinter library - though that may just be a comment on the quality of our libraries,” Dorian said. He took a drink and leaned back in his chair. As he listened, the tavern bard was singing a song about star-crossed lovers. It felt annoyingly appropriate.

“From what I’ve heard, Varric would agree with you,” the Iron Bull said, with a laugh.

“Though don’t say that to Cassandra,” Blackwall added. Cassandra had been mortified to be publicly handed the latest chapter of ‘Swords and Shields’, for sure enough, everybody heard about it. It only made her all the more likeable, however.

Looks turned to Kaleb, who was the last one to be questioned on whether or not his world was black and white. Before the question was asked, however, he abruptly stood up to leave.

“I have to go,” he said. “Dorian, quick word?”

Dorian finished the rest of his drink with a swift gulp and left with the Inquisitor. It was the Dutch courage to say what he needed to say next, though they walked in silence for a good while anyway.

“Lovely shade of beige, your shirt,” he said dryly, trying to hide how nervous he felt.

“Thank-you,” Kaleb said, with a look that said he understood exactly what Dorian was trying to say. “Personally I prefer reds, but there you go.”

“You know,” he continued, “I never thought the colours would appear for me. A psychic mage told my family I’d never know the love of a woman, and as far as I considered at the time, that was that. Then I became ‘the Herald’, and it made sense - I wasn’t meant to have a normal life. But, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Dorian echoed. Somehow in their walk together they’d found themselves in Dorian’s nook in the library. “When did you…?”

“You know when”, Kaleb replied, looking intently into Dorian’s eyes.

“The Redcliffe chantry is beautiful,” Dorian said.

“So are you,” Kaleb said.

“I try,” Dorian replied, smiling.

Placing a hand on his waist, Kaleb stepped in for a kiss. He was full of want and need, and Dorian returned the kiss with equal fervour.

* * *

“Can I paint you?” Dorian asked one morning, as he and Kaleb lay in bed together, having just woken up.

“Is there something wrong with the colour I am?” Kaleb said sleepily, looking down at himself.

“Do a painting _of_ you,” Dorian gently corrected.

“Everyone will know you can see colour? Unless this is a painting just for the two of us?” Kaleb asked.

“No, I think I’d like everyone to know. If you wouldn’t mind,” he added.

“No,” Kaleb said, slowly. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

And so they found themselves in the library that afternoon with an easel and canvas Dorian had found from Maker knows where. Kaleb immediately struck a daft pose, and Dorian laughed at him.

“Sit by the window, where the light can fall on your face,” he said, once he had collected himself.

“Since when are you the _artiste_ , Dorian?” Kaleb asked, doing as he was told.

“This immaculate fashion sense doesn’t come without a sense of creativity, you know,” he replied.

Sitting by the window, Kaleb was bathed in a golden light. It emphasised the blue centre of his eyes, and the shape of his bone structure. Dorian stopped for a moment just to appreciate the appearance of his lover, before setting pencil to canvas. He wanted to get a solid sketch in before he added any colour. The paint would cover it up, so it wouldn’t matter if he was messy, so long as he didn’t press so hard in concentration that he broke the pencil - or the canvas.

He’d got into the habit of drawing and painting while he was putting off particularly difficult readings. He was a proud and happy scholar, but that didn’t mean that some of the literature he had to read wasn’t occasionally incredibly complex, or dry beyond words.

Kaleb was a good model, sitting obediently still while Dorian drew him. They chatted for a while until the time came for Dorian to draw his lips, where he sat silent with a faint smile.

“Alright, you can speak again,” Dorian said when he had finished.

“Thank goodness,” Kaleb replied. “I had to sit for a painting once before - the Trevelyan family portrait. I was eight, and the painter didn’t let us move or speak for the entire sitting. This was hard, as you can imagine, because I was eight.”

Dorian laughed. “Poor you. You know, the paintings I did before I knew you probably look dreadful - I bought coloured paints, because they were more valuable and I’m, well, me. I probably mixed the most horrendous of colours together,” Dorian said.

“A sight to see, I’m sure,” Kaleb said.

Dorian quickly sketched in the light and dark values before throwing a cloth over the easel.

“The sun is setting,” he explained, “your colours will all have changed by the time I finish.”

“And I don’t get to see?” Kaleb asked, dismayed.

“Not until it’s finished,” Dorian said, prompting a pout from his lover.

Kaleb left his chair by the window and gave Dorian a kiss. “You’ve got lead smudges on your nose, you know,” he said.

“It’s part of my charm,” Dorian replied.

Dorian tucked the canvas, sheet and all, under his arm, and went to stow it away where Kaleb couldn’t peek at it. Kaleb had to head to the war room - he would be confronting Corypheus soon.

* * *

The final battle with Corypheus came, and the world tumbled down around them. Moments before, Kaleb had sent Corypheus into the fade, and the ground that Corypheus had been suspending in mid-air crashed to the ground.

Dorian was horrified to see a slab of rubble fall from above and trap the Inquisitor. He closed his eyes in shock, but when he opened them again the world was still in colour.

The ground being level again, the rest of the inquisition were able to run to his aid.

“Is he…?” Solas asked.

“Dead? No, he’s not, trust me,” Dorian replied.

“How do you know?” Solas asked.

“The world isn’t black and white again, yet,” Dorian said. There was a quiet moment of ‘oh’, as everyone around him understood what he meant, but there were more pressing things at hand than the Inquisitor’s love life.

Cassandra, Blackwall and the Iron Bull lifted the slab off the Inquisitor, aided by the three mages. It was thrown aside, and Dorian was horrified to see the state that Kaleb was in.

There was blood trickling out of his mouth, though whether that was from a split lip or a more dangerous internal injury was impossible to tell. His arm stuck out at a horrible angle, and he was unconscious.

He was alive, though, still alive. The colours were there. 

“Somebody fetch Mother Giselle and the other healers,” Cassandra said. “ _Now_.” Sera ran off to go find them.

He’d suffered worse injuries at Haven, Dorian reassured himself. Some believed he’d even come back from the dead. He was going to be alright. He had to be.

Mother Giselle and the other healers arrived to take him away. He was gently lifted with magic onto a stretcher - the easiest way not to disturb him - and Dorian went to follow them.

“We need space to work, Dorian,” Mother Giselle said, gently but firmly.

“But I’m his-” he started.

“I know,” she interrupted, in the same tone of voice. “You can’t help, right now.”

Resigned, Dorian went to where he kept his drawing of Kaleb. He needed to be able to see his face. He decided to lay down the base colours - it would be a distraction, and something to show Kaleb when he woke up.

The tubes of paint were all white, with the names of their colours printed on the side. He picked up a cadmium red, and squeezed it out onto the palette.

It came out grey.


End file.
